


Rooms on Fire

by whendoestheshipsail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angsty Schmoop, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Cas saves Dean but the how isn't talked about much, Come as Lube, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean is having a bit of a post-Michael breakdown, Dean's worried Cas will leave because he can fly again, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e19 The Chitters, Pre-Season/Series 14, Sam and Mary intervention, Top Castiel, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, and then it's super happy, cas has his wings back, it's all very tragic, it's my canon and i'll do what i want to, many man tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whendoestheshipsail/pseuds/whendoestheshipsail
Summary: Dean is liberated from Michael but that doesn’t mean things are good. In fact, Dean is an emotional disaster and determined to continue on a downward spiral all on his lonesome. To make matters worse, Cas has his wings back courtesy of Jack and that means one thing- Cas will now be able to leave Dean even more than he did before.Sam and Mary decide to take matters into their own hands and order Cas to stay with Dean no matter what and when a call comes from Cesar inviting Dean to come see the ex-hunters home in Texas Dean can’t bring himself to say no. Which is how Dean and Cas wind up on a farm, sharing a room and really examining what’s possible for two gay ex-hunters when they give up hunting and embrace each other instead.





	1. Chapter 1

“I just don’t understand why you’re in such a hurry,” Sam said, following Dean as he moved through the bunker with purpose, bag on his shoulder, jacket on, ready to head out for a hunt. “You’ve only been back a few days. Please, Dean. I know you’re going crazy but I’m begging you just give it—”

Dean stopped, turned around and met Sam’s worried gaze. “I can’t. Okay. I need to get out of here. I know you’re right. And it might be too soon, but I…I gotta go,” Dean said, hefting his bag on his shoulder. He had nothing else to say on the matter. If there were other words, right or wrong, he didn’t have them. All he had were images, things Michael had done, had made _him_ do, think and feel and he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand to be himself or see the people who cared for him look at him with pity for a moment longer. And now he was home, rescued and his body was no longer him and a plus-one and everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to break or confess or cry or _something_ and it was just too damned much. 

The bunker just compounded it. It was supposed to be home, his safe place and yet it was filled with people he didn’t really know or people he should know, like Bobby and Charlie, except they weren’t the versions he knew, they were different. The weight of knowledge and shared experience wasn’t there. The love wasn’t there.

“You can’t run away from your problems, Dean,” Sam said. He hated it when people said that. Because couldn’t he, though? Or at least try? Booze, bacon and bullets. He’d tried it before, found it all to be inadequate but maybe this time it’d be different. This time he’d eat more bacon, he thought grimly.

Dean heard a metal clinking sound and looked down to see that he was jangling the keys nervously. He gripped them tight, squeezing hard, feeling the pain sink through his palms, radiate outwards to his fingers and slide up his arm. If he kept going, would he bleed? “Dr. Phil me when I get back.”

He turned and then Sam grabbed him, put a hand on his arm. Every muscle in Dean’s body locked up tight. He did _not_ want to be touched. Sam took a step back, releasing him, whatever he saw on Dean’s face enough to make his mouth drop open in worry. “Okay. Sorry. Um, Dean. You can’t. Not on your own. It just isn’t safe. You’re off, man. And who wouldn’t be after what happened to you? Let me get my stuff.”

An endless moment went by. “Sure. Okay,” Dean finally agreed.

Sam’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Great. Ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” he said, and he turned away, walking back down the hall. Dean went out to the garage and put his bag in the trunk. He _should_ wait for Sam. He _shouldn’t_ go alone. Both of those things were true and yet the idea of having anyone near him now, after what had happened, it was like sensory overload. Emotional overload. A tsunami of self-loathing that would wash him away.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and he got into the car. He drove away from the bunker and made damn sure he didn’t look back. He was an hour away before he had to stop for gas. And he needed to decide on a destination. There was no case. He’d just told Sam there was a case because he couldn’t stand to be there any longer.The handle of the gas pump was sticky for some disgusting but unknown reason and he swore, repressing a desperate urge to kick something. _Deep breath. All that shit._ He’d drive for a few hours, hustle some pool, get some papers in the morning and try to find a case to distract himself.

The plan didn’t make him feel any better. He finished putting gas in the car and suddenly it was too much, his breath was coming in uneven pants and something was rushing over him, rage, despair, self-loathing, fear, it was everything all mashed together in a toxic rush, suddenly flowing through his veins like heroin.

It coursed through him, pulsed inside him and even though he tried not to see them, the images came to him too, too many, too much. He dropped his head down on Baby’s roof, resting his weight against the door so he didn’t fall down. How was he going to do this? Live like this, he thought, and tears burned down his cheeks. Fuck he couldn’t breathe and the more he tried, the harder it got. Would he die here, at a shitty gas station a few hundred miles from home? All alone and pathetic? Could memories actually kill a person?

Would it make things easier if he did die? Just went over a fucking cliff and punched his own ticket? Michael’s voice was inside his mind, things that he’d said to him over and over again, truths and fearful taunts. He’d been so amused by Dean’s trauma. Disgusted by the things Dean had done in Hell, amused at Dean’s false bravado. _‘No one knows how afraid you are, do they, Dean? Every day you are afraid. Afraid you’re going to die, afraid you’re going to live, afraid they will leave you. Sam and your mother. The funniest, of course, is Castiel. You’re waiting for the moment where he realizes, fully understands that he has bet on the wrong man. He threw everything away for a broken shell, a pathetic lustful sinner.’_

And then Micheal would let him live those memories all over again, every time he’d failed his father, his brother and Cas. And if he could survive that, somehow swim to the surface of his consciousness and demand Michael leave him, that was when Michael got really angry. His punishment then was perfect and precise. Dean would be back in that cell, all alone, desperate to get out, willing to make any deal just to get the hell out of prison. To not be alone, his skin cold and untouched. One of the worst experiences of his life and Michael would drown him in it, slow things down so Dean felt like he was there for years and years. So fucking alone.

He managed to get a lungful of air and then another. His breathing calmed and he swiped the tears from his cheeks. He got in the car and just sat there for a long moment, trying to get his shit together. He wasn’t safe to drive. Not really. “New plan,” he murmured, starting the car. “Find a bar and drink it.”

He pulled out of the gas station, so wrapped up in his trauma and nightmares that he didn’t notice Castiel, several feet away, unhidden and watching him, a grim expression on his face. And in some weird, dark and twisted way he might have been amused to learn that this time, he was the one leaving Castiel behind.

***

Castiel flew back to the bunker, appearing next to Sam as he sat at the war room table, staring blindly at a book. His agitation was palpable. “Did you find him?” Sam demanded.

“I did. He is driving. I’m not sure where he’s going yet.” He fiddled with the sleeve of his trench coat unnecessarily.

“Someone needs to be with him,” Sam said. A pulse of frustration or anger came from him and Cas tried to understand what the emotion was that was coming off of Sam so strongly. And why. Somehow it seemed directed at _him_ , Castiel thought, which didn’t make any sense.

“Do you want me to take you to him?”

Sam exhaled roughly. “No. Because he’s already made it clear he doesn’t want _me_ with him. But he needs someone.” His eyes practically burned a hole through Cas.

“You think _I_ should go to him?”

“Yeah, Cas, I do,” Sam said on a sigh. “I think you should go to him and work this case, if there is one, and just don’t leave him alone.”

Cas felt heat rise up his body and settle in his cheeks. Blushing was a strange sensation, blood flowing through his capillaries and settling in one area, close to the surface. He didn’t like it. “He is conflicted at the moment. I think I bring back the trauma he went through with Michael. Perhaps your mother could go see him?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Mary said, as she came into the room,a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Nothing,” Sam ground out. “He found Dean. I told Cas that he needs to go see Dean, stay with him until he’s ready to come back.”

Mary put a mug down on the table in front of Sam and looked at Cas in confusion. “Makes sense to me,” she said, taking a sip. They both looked at him expectantly. He didn’t want to tell them just how upset Dean was. It seemed like a violation of Dean’s privacy. And yet, Cas being with Dean wasn’t going to make things easier.

Rescuing Dean had taken all of them, had required Cas to invade Dean’s mind, lure him out. It had taken time to find him and he’d witnessed the memories and feelings Michael created or pulled from Dean’s mind. From what Castiel had seen in Dean’s mind when he’d been possessed by Michael, he’d been one of the main points of focus for Michael’s torments. Cas’ image and words used to crush Dean over and over again. The archangel had just found it all so amusing- Castiel and his devotion to Dean, that it had been so strong that he’d turned away from God. He blamed himself for Cas falling, for every mistake Cas had made. Dean wasn’t just embarrassed but ashamed. And Castiel didn’t think there were any words that would make it better. Time was all he could offer. He’d told Dean he didn’t blame him but, of course, Dean didn’t believe him. And Cas knew what that was like too. Time and space were all they could really give Dean. And now Sam wanted him to take that away from Dean too. Force him to confront Castiel, and then what exactly? Did Sam imagine that Dean would be comforted by him?

The emotion that went through him at that notion, the almost covetous sense of lustful desire to comfort Dean and be able to give him peace was practically sinful. What did it say about him that he wanted to be able to soothe him? To be that necessary. Like water or air. He feared it made him small and unworthy. 

Cas shook his head. “I agree that Dean shouldn’t be alone but it doesn’t have to be me. I can take you or Charlie to him. I think someone with a bit of distance from Michael’s possession would be better. Less…baggage,” he said, and even he could hear how awkwardly the word sounded coming out of his own mouth.

Mary gave him a look. “Dean is hurting. He doesn’t need his mother or his friend. He doesn’t even need his brother. He needs _you_. It doesn’t matter if it’s uncomfortable or difficult. Isn’t that your purpose? To protect my boys? And right now Dean needs to be protected from himself.”

“Of course it is, but—” he paused, looked to Sam for help but Sam was looking hard at the table and ignoring Cas’ silent plea.He turned back to Mary. “And if this were physical I would not hesitate--”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this, Castiel. Dean needs you. He’s hurting. Go and do your job,” she said, and Cas felt just as helpless as Dean and Sam did to argue when Mary gave him a direct order. And she wasn’t even his mother!

Cas stared down at the table, an uncomfortable sensation twisting through his stomach.Discussing his relationship with Dean was difficult at the best of times, but discussing it with Dean’s mother and Sam now that Dean was free from Michael, having to put that into words was a fresh torture.The both of them had been so careful to say nothing. He wasn’t even sure it was his story to tell. But him going after Dean wasn’t the solution. “He leaves. I’ve tried talking to him and he walks away from me, I’ve offered to sit with him and he rebuffs me. I don’t know what to do,” Cas said, and the pain of his ineffectualness was literal, like a wound inside of him.

“I don’t care. We Winchester’s are not good with the emotional side of things. We run away. But, sometimes, we wish we didn’t have to. There were times where I shouldn’t have let John leave but I was afraid and that never worked.”

He could feel Mary and Sam looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to give in.

“I don’t know what to do!” Cas burst out, surprised at himself. He’d been rather loud.

The hard look on Mary’s face softened and she reached out a hand, touching him on the arm. “We never do. This is just like a hunt. You never know what you’re walking into and you’re never sure what will solve the problem but you keep trying and you help save lives. And this is Dean’s life we’re talking about,” Her voice wobbled and Cas felt helpless and more than a little lost. She wasn’t being overly dramatic. There was something new and sharp within Dean. His depression worse, his willingness to fight absent.

Weighted.

Dean could very well die from the feelings he was carrying if they were not careful. He hadn’t realized how mentally unwell Dean had been before Michael. And he hadn’t been here to see the grief he’d felt at Cas’ death. But he’d seen it later, as he walked in Dean’s mind, trying to find him. He’d found him beside Cas’ body too broken to weep, a fraction of his mind unable to move away from the scene. Michael had fragmented him, taken him apart and kept him weak, tormented with loops of horrible experiences. How could anyone recover from that? 

“I’ll go, of course I’ll go,” Cas said, certain he’d promise anything to avoid Mary crying. “I just wish I knew what to say.”

“None of us know what to say and even if we did, we wouldn’t say it. We lash out with words, using them to hide. Emotional constipation is the foundation of this family.”

Now Sam looked up, head nodding. “In fact, just discard most of what he says. And if he’s angry, just ignore it. As long as you don’t leave him, everything will be okay. The truth is, Dean’s never dealt well with being left.” A strange look crossed Sam’s face. Guilt? “And when you go away, even before this, it messes him up. He needs you. He won’t admit it but it has to be you. Jesus, Cas. Think about our lives. What you have been to him. What you are and what you represent…it’s simple if you think about it.”

Cas opened his mouth. That was certainly a vast oversimplification of the problem. Human emotions were complex and difficult things. And Dean, in particular, was a contradiction.

Sam sighed. “You rescued him from Hell. You almost destroyed the world for him. And then there was purgatory. Cas, he stayed there for you for a _year_. And when you died, like—“

“Promise you won’t leave him,” Mary demanded, again.

“It’s not what you describe,” he manages, the words pulled from him.

“You know, Cas. Come on. One of you has got to man up here,” Sam said, softly. “And it’s not gonna be him. He doesn’t have it in him.”

Long moments passed. He heard Mary sniffle and out of the corner of his eye he could see her wiping away a tear. Which should be classified as blackmail. “I promise,” Cas said, and he closed his eyes, accepting responsibility for what was ahead.

“Good. Then go,” Mary instructed. The expression on her face was determined, commanding. He glanced at Sam, who again was conveniently looking at the table. And so, Castiel left.


	2. Chapter 2

He landed in the front seat of the Impala, Dean’s music loud enough to make him wince. He reached for the dial, turning it down. Dean didn’t even look at him, the only indication that he was aware of Castiel’s presence was his grip tightening on the wheel.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and then he stopped, waited, because he really didn’t know what to say.

“Must be nice, having the wings back,” Dean said, voice expressionless. He cast a quick glance over at Cas, up and down and then away.

“Yes,” he managed. “I was surprised at how much being able to fly again helped me feel like…myself.”

“Yup. Come and go as you please. Nothing to keep you anywhere now, is there?” The smile he gave Cas was empty, wide and lying.

Cas stared intently at Dean, trying to work out what Dean was actually trying to tell him. While the words were friendly enough, the hostility coming from him meant Dean was trying to tell him something else. Sam had told him Dean didn’t well with his absence. And now Dean was commenting that Cas would be able to leave more. Leave _him_ more. Hmm. “It means I can help you, if you get into trouble. And I want to do that. Help, I mean.”

Dean sighed. “Well, I don’t need any help right now.”

“Your brother and mother would disagree,” Castiel said, deciding it would be wise to not tell Dean he’d seen him upset at the gas station.

“Ah,” he said, softly. “So they sent you after me. That makes sense,” he said, and the undercurrent of grief wasn’t just in his voice but radiating from him.

“Dean, let me help you. Tell me what I can do—“

“You can’t do anything for me, Cas. I’m just fine.”

“What Michael did—“

“No,” Dean growled, “Don’t mention him to me. I don’t want to talk about it. _Ever._ You want to tag along, that’s fine but don’t bring up Michael. Got it? And if you can’t keep your trap shut, then just…just go.” The pain Cas could feel, the grief he’d seen, showed him just how much Dean needed help.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said. Dean laughed. Which was not the reaction Cas expected. “I don’t understand why that’s funny.”

Dean took a deep breath in, and after a long moment he said, “Cause you’re _going_ to leave. It’s probably the one regular thing I can count on. You being here and then you leaving. So, sure, you wanna stay, Cas? Go ahead and stay and then something will come up, something more important, and you’ll go. In fact, I’ll bet you twenty bucks you’re gone by this time tomorrow.”

“Dean, that’s unfair. There is nothing more important than you. Not really. Not to me.I have left when I had to, or….” Yes, he’d left but it was always for a purpose, a good reason and it invariably had to do with protecting the Winchester’s. Or it was because he couldn’t stand being there and feeling alone. But that couldn’t possible by something helpful to contribute to the conversation.

Dean threw Castiel a glance that was angry, pained. His hand clenched on the wheel. “I guess that means Heaven is still on lockdown.”

“Yes, I assume so,” Castiel said, aware that every sentence was a trap but uncertain what the danger was or why.

“And Jack is fine.”

“Between Lucifer stealing his grace and healing my wings, he is currently exhausted and happily content in his room at the bunker.”

Dean nods. “Then maybe you won’t ditch me before tomorrow. Doesn’t really matter.I don’t need you to stay with me, either. I’m just going for a drive.”

“Sam said you were going on a hunt.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t be leaving you. For the duration of this mission I will be with you. I promised your mother.” Dean gave no reaction to this news. “She cares about you deeply.”

“Shut the hell up, Cas. If you’re not going to leave, at least be quiet.” And Dean reached over and turned up the radio. They drove for hours, every moment awkward and uncomfortable. At one point Dean had turned the radio down and Castiel had felt a moment of relief, hoping that perhaps they could talk now, maybe Dean had calmed down. But no, all he’d done was tell Cas to use his angel radio abilities to find him a case and then he’d cranked up the volume again.

At two in the morning Castiel could sense Dean’s exhaustion. “There is a motel in twenty miles. I think you should stop there.”

“Put something else on. I’m sick of this tape,” Dean said. Castiel got out Dean’s box of tapes and found a Led Zeppelin tape.

“ _Don’t_ put on Zepp,” Dean commanded gruffly, not bothering to look at him.

“Are you sure? You love Led Zeppelin. I thought that was why you gave me the tape in the first place.”

“Oh for the love of, god _dammit_ Cas, for once in your junkless life will you just do what I want without it being a big fucking thing?”

Anger rose within him. “The things I have done for you,” he said, voice almost shaking. “Sometimes, I,” Cas swallowed, forced himself to stop speaking. Arguing would not help this situation.

“Tell me, Cas. Go on.” He sounded almost eager, as if he wanted a fight.

“Sometimes I don’t know what else I can do. I loved God. That was my purpose. And then I loved man and that was my purpose. But it wasn’t like the love I felt, _feel_ , for you. It was a pale imitation of love. Like loving pie versus loving your brother. You might use the same word but it isn’t the same sentiment. And so I,” he huffed, an unpleasant laugh choked in his throat, “I became something else to protect you, I’ve murdered my own kind because I love you, I’ve died for you. In a way, you are more my god than Chuck ever was. And yet, I find myself in the same situation I’ve always been in….” Cas ran out of words.

Long moments passed. “And what’s that, Cas?” Dean’s voice was quiet, the barest hint of a tremble framing the words.

“Alone. Acting on faith and with no indication that I’m doing the right thing.”

Dean’s voice was cold. “And that’s my fault,” he said.

“Fault? No, I don’t think it’s your fault. That implies intention. And you are a good man, Dean. The best man, being, I have ever known. So no, it isn’t your fault. Perhaps it comes from being an angel. Junkless,” Cas said, the insult bothering him. Dean had thrown it around a few times in the past and he never knew what he was supposed to do with it. What the purpose of that particular insult was. He grimaced. That wasn’t really true. Now that he’d been in Dean’s mind, seen the torments Michael created for Dean in an effort to keep him from fighting, the insult made more sense. It didn’t mean he liked it. He’d not thought it would be an insult Dean would throw at him ever again.

“That’s not what I meant. I just said it out of anger. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Cas nodded, accepting the apology. He should stop talking. But now that he’d started, for some reason, he couldn’t stop. Too many things they’d not said to each other over the years and where had that gotten them? “When I was Emmanuel things were easy. He was so…happy. He faced the world with wonder. He fixed things. And it made him, me, content. We can’t fix things in real life, Dean. Not people, anyway. But we can stay with them, protect them while they try to fix themselves. You will put Michael behind you, it will just take time. And I will be there, as much as I can to help you.”

“Cause I’m your project again?” Dean asked. “Well, that’s great and all, but no, Cas, I don’t think I’m going to get over what Michael and I did. It’s going to be another nightmare, another chain around my neck until I die and wind up back in Hell.”

“You’re not going to Hell,” Castiel said, instantly.

An ugly laugh. “The scales never really balanced. And after Michael, it never will. I belong there. Hell, maybe it’ll be a relief. Honest, at least. Do the crime, get the pain sort of thing.”

“You don’t belong there. And if you went I would take you out of there. _Again_.”

Dean sighed. “Did you find a tape yet?”

Cas grabbed one, Metallica and put it in the tape deck. He pressed rewind, knowing Dean liked to start at the beginning of an album rather than the middle. The soft sound of the tape rewinding could just be heard over the noise of the road. “Will you stop at the motel?”

“No, I’m fine,” Dean said.

Cas frowned in annoyance. So stubborn. “I found a case. Two bodies, drained of blood. Half an hour from the motel. You can stop, get some sleep and then we can check it out in the morning.”

“Uh huh. So I guess that means I’m stopping after all. Isn’t that convenient,” Dean growled, casting him a dark glance out of the corner of his eye.

A few minutes later Dean parked the car and got his bag from the back. “Okay, so I’ll see you in the morning then. Nine a.m.”

“What?” Cas asked, surprised. The night was cold enough that Cas could see Dean’s breath fogging in the night air. He stopped, shoulders tense, and turned back around carefully. He could tell just from the way Dean stood and held himself that he was feeling defensive and brittle.

“You don’t sleep. I’m sure you have something you can do while I grab a few hours. Places to fly to.”

“I’m supposed to stay with you,” Cas said.

Dean shook his head, a smile on one corner of his mouth as he looked down and then up. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you abandoned your post. I’m sure they didn’t mean for you to literally stay by my side while I slept.” Dean turned and walked away from him, head bowed as he trudged to the front office.

Castiel was pretty sure that Mary and Sam _did_ want him to stay with Dean through the night. But Dean didn’t. And maybe he was feeling better now. They had talked. Wasn’t that supposed to fix things? Dean always complained when Cas tried to watch him sleep.

Perhaps it was cowardly of him but he decided to double check with Sam and he flew to the bunker but of course everyone was asleep. Did he really need to wake Sam up for this? He went to Dean’s room, opening the door and looking inside even though he wasn’t there. As if Dean might have left the answer there, perhaps on a post-it-note. “Don’t leave me.” Or “Fuck off.” Both were options.

He frowned. If there was a post-it-note odds are it would, in fact, say, don’t leave me. Because this was Dean, a man who’s idea of Hell was being alone. He knew he should go to Dean. Knew he was being a coward.

He had to go back. Just to see. Guilt gnawed at him as he went to the motel, keeping himself invisible as he watched Dean put his bag down on the bed. Dean took out his wash bag and went into the bathroom. He took a shower and came back out half an hour later, going to his bed and walking like a man defeated. He sat down hard, eyes closing.

Cas could feel Dean’s pain like a knife in his heart. Dean opened his mouth and for just a moment he thought Dean was going to pray for him. It had been years since Dean prayed to him.

He didn’t now, either. But the longing Dean felt for Cas increased, pulsing anew. It was always there, this steady presence inside of him, constant except for the times when Dean hadn’t been himself. The Mark of Cain had taken that feeling away. And when he’d been controlled by Michael it had been squashed so deeply that he rarely felt it. But now that Dean was free it was back, grief mixed with sadness, longing and loneliness. It became more and more pronounced as Dean sat there on the bed. Castiel represented faith to Dean. And there was no rule more sacrosanct than angels and humans remaining apart. There was to be no earthly love between them. Even if the others took is so casually, Lucifer and even Gabriel, Cas stayed faithful to his vows. Which was sort of ironic since he’d blasted through every other rule he was supposed to follow.

Dean wanted him in complicated ways, ways that resembled lust and desire, but weren’t. He’d been confused for so long, unable to comprehend the complex cocktail of feelings that Dean felt for him, but he thought he’d managed to work most of it out. Cas was faith to Dean. But for Cas, Dean was…well, he was everything. 

Dean stood and went to his bag, rummaged around and came out with a blade. Before Cas could decide what to do Dean had cut himself across his forearm, the cut sharp and deep, interrupting his longing for Cas. Dean hissed at the pain of it and went to the bathroom, getting tissue to soak up the blood.

Where were the spell ingredients? What _was_ this? Dean came out of the bathroom, hand over the wound. He got into bed and he closed his eyes, his back to Cas and after a few moments the longing came back, began to increase and Dean slapped a hand over the wound on his arm again, the fresh smell of copper filling the air. The longing decreased, again, pain a replacement.

Dean had cut himself so that he’d feel pain instead of longing. For Castiel. He couldn’t allow this. He _wouldn’t_. This was punishment and self loathing all tied together. And that was when the answer came to him. Like divine revelation. Dean needed him. And he didn’t want that need to be known. And suddenly the conversation in the car made sense, in fact, a lot of things made sense and began to slot together, as if all their interactions had been puzzle pieces with no picture to assemble them by. He saw the picture now.

The one Sam and Mary apparently saw so clearly. Dean needed him but feared Cas would leave. Dean loved him in a human way filled with shame and longing and Dean hated himself for that. And he’d rather hurt himself then let Cas know just how alone and wounded he was.

The magnitude of Dean’s emotion, the depth of it, proved that Castiel was, in fact, the only one who could help support Dean through this. It was what Mary and Sam were trying to tell him. It wasn’t familiar love that Michael had used to destroy Dean but romantic. For Michael, that had been the sin that needed to be purged. The torments Michael had visited upon Dean all linked to his feelings for Castiel.

Dean was crumbling under the weight of all that had happened to him. He needed Cas. And Cas needed him. Dean was his purpose. And everything else, every vow and promise was secondary. He’d always put Dean first and he needed to do it again. One last line to cross. He materialized with a flap of wings into the darkened room. He saw Dean’s shoulders tense under the covers but he didn’t turn over.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

“How am I supposed to sleep with you standing over me?” Dean growled.

“I’m going to sit with you.”

“Cas—” Dean said, about to start protesting again.

“Dean, shut up,” and he sat down on the bed next to him, back leaning against the headboard, his body angled towards Dean’s as much as he was able to while still keeping both feet on the floor.

Dean breathed shallowly, his heartbeat picked up speed and his body tensed as though he were about to flee. ‘Shhh,’ Cas found himself saying and he placed a hand on Dean’s upper arm, just over his mark of all things, and the jolt of lust that swept through him, the desire to be closer to Dean was almost overwhelming.

There was a reason he worked so very hard to touch Dean as little as possible. It wasn’t just his claim on Dean’s soul that called to him. It wasn’t just that Dean had, on some fundamental level, embraced that claim and kept it with him like a talisman all this time. It wasn’t _just_ Dean, it was him. Cas’ desires that mingled with Dean’s and almost brought him low. His feelings amplified by touch.

How easy it would be to move closer, to lie next to Dean and feel the heat of his body.He’d take Dean’s breath into his lungs, feel the weight of his body against his own. The things he would do if it was in anyway appropriate or welcomed. Where would he stop? What physical contact would be enough? He blushed. All of it was what his body wanted. His body reacted, becoming hard and wanting. He shoved the thoughts away, feeling a little sick with himself that he could think such things when Dean was in such pain.

And of course it made him question the decision he’d just reached. Was it really for Dean that he’d decided to sit beside him, touch him and soothe him? He pushed the doubt aside and continued to touch him, swept his hand down Dean’s arm and back up again, to his back and his shoulders.

“I’m not a god damned child,” Dean said, but his voice came out a whisper.

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas murmured, again. And suddenly, surprisingly, the fight went out of Dean. His body relaxed, the breath oozed out of him and his emotions changed as well, the dull pain in his arm grew worse now that the adrenaline was gone and Cas couldn’t help himself, he healed him, pushing his grace into Dean, letting it pulse through his body.

Dean’s breath hitched, a hint of sound coming from his throat at the warm feeling. And then he felt Dean relax further. A quiet ‘thank you’ mumbled into the pillow.

“Of course, Dean,” and he made sure to keep his own words equally quiet, as if it were just the two of them in some hidden place, fearful of discovery.

Given half a chance he’d do this all night, touch Dean and be near him, a vigilant warrior guarding the most valuable thing in the universe. He stroked up Dean’s neck, to the hair at the nape of his neck and he felt Dean shift, the subtlest tilt of his head. An invitation.

Cas swept his fingers up through the fine strands, enjoying the feel of his thick hair. Dean’s pleasure was palpable and yet so was his own. It fulfilled him to help Dean this way. And yet touching Dean like this didn’t make him want to touch Dean any less. It was the opposite. Each touch made him want more and more. To touch his face and his jaw, his chest, his— well, he could go on and on but that was just torture. All of Dean, that was what he wanted.

But he kept his touches careful and soothing and Dean let him, didn’t stop him and then finally, he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_“Let’s talk about Hell, Dean,” Michael said, and then images appeared, things he’d done and experienced, the monster he’d become when he’d been down in Hell and hopeless, pain becoming his motivation and solace. He’d sliced and it had been like drawing a pleasing line on paper, he’d heard screams and it had been like music. He was the conductor, the facilitator for all that pain. He was the one who made it happen, set these souls free from joy and let them revel in fear and horror._

_Michael liked that. He’d found it amusing. And so he brought them people sometimes, tried to tap into Dean’s feelings, brought them victims who looked like people he’d carved up when he’d been in Hell. And when that had stopped being fun he’d brought people who reminded him of Sam or his mother, of Lisa or Ben and Cas. They were helping them, Michael whispered, purging them of sin. Dark hair and blue eyes. It took Dean a while to realize that all the victims he’d seen recently had dark hair and blue eyes._

_Always it led back to Cas. The relationship didn’t make sense to Michael. In his world, Cas had been broken, a shell of a thing, an instrument of torture that helped Michael fight the war. Here he was a rebel and it was because of Dean. It had also angered Michael, piqued his vanity. Michael was to be loved. Michael was the warrior, the favored and chosen who brought Heaven along in his wake. The world and the angels bowed to him. And yet…here was Dean, his vessel, an instrument, the one human who should be the most willing to say yes to him, to support him in his conquest of remaking the Earth and he didn’t._

_And so it had been a puzzle, a game to Michael. How would they break Castiel this time? How did they make Cas like the version Michael knew back home? So many images and fantasies, warped and twisted. Cas on a rack, carved up slowly—_

“No, Dean,” Cas said, and it brought Dean to consciousness, woke him from images and nightmares. His cheeks were wet and his heart was shredded inside his body. He turned over, needing to be reminded that Cas was here, that none of the things Michael had made him do were, in fact, real. At least, not the worst of it. Because he had beaten up Cas when he and Sam had tried to save him. But he’d never tortured him like Michael wanted. Not the carving and the killing.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmured, burying his head against Cas’ thigh. His hand came up, wrapped awkwardly around Cas’ waist.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Dean breathed in deeply, tried to swallow down the ache in his chest that was rising within him. “How can I live with this? How can you stand to be near me?”

“I love you, Dean.” The pain within Dean became worse, the longing harsher. “And…I don’t understand why _you_ are shamed by his torture of you. Your nightmare is hurting me, isn’t that a dreadful compliment of sorts? It shows that you do care for me. You can’t help what Michael made you see, made you do in your dreams. But it isn’t _real_ , Dean. And I don’t care for you any less because of it.”

Dean’s eyes were closed tight, his head still pushed hard against Cas’ leg and Cas put a hand to Dean’s face, wiped a tear away, felt an unholy and inappropriate physical joy go through him at being able to touch Dean this way and not be pushed away. This was what Dean needed from him. Reassurance. Touch. Connection.

His jaw was rough from stubble, and then smooth and warm when he touched Dean’s cheek. Dean breathed out, his breath hot on Castiel’s wrist and he froze for a moment, a wave of desire rushing through him, the fine hairs on his arm, raising in mortal reflex. Dean breathed in, nose close to Castiel’s skin, the longing increasing as if he wanted Castiel’s scent deep inside of his lungs.

Dean’s grip loosened, his neck relaxed but he didn’t pull away. “Okay, Cas. Okay…don’t leave me,” he said, eyes still closed. He didn’t say please out loud but that was what he meant. They both knew it and he wanted Dean to knowhe did understand, that he felt it too.

“Dean, look at me,” he said, thumb brushing Dean’s cheek. Dean opened his eyes, pupils blown wide, eyes glassy with tears and emotion. Vulnerable. It drew him to Dean, made him feel emotions that had no name, nothing he understood. Things he feared and wanted more of. He wanted to make Dean happy. “I am yours unto death,” he said, hoping his eyes, his voice, the feel of his fingers against Dean’s face could convey what he felt, aware that it was impossible. “I will give you anything and everything you want. All you have to do is ask,” he said.

A grim smile flitted across Dean’s lips. “Me, ask? That’s all?”

His smile was wobbly. “But if the answer is always yes, then why shouldn’t you ask?”

Dean licked his lips, hesitated, wanting to say something. “Good night, Cas,” he said, and then he closed his eyes, stayed where he was, body half curled around Cas. Sleep was a long time coming.

 

Sam called the next morning while Dean was in the shower. “How is he?”

“He is…not well. But I am here with him and have told him I’m not leaving his side and that seems to have calmed him a little.”

A long pause. “And you _won’t_ leave him, right? Not for Heaven or anything else? Not until you get back here?”

“I gave my word,” Castiel said, insulted. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just…you mean a lot to him and he’s happier when you’re there.”

“I understand,” Cas said.

A sigh. “Sure. I’m pretty sure you don’t, but okay. You won’t leave him alone so that’s a start.”

“What else is there?” He felt his brows pull together in a confused frown.

A lengthy pause. “Right. So what are you going to do today?”

“I think we found a case. Vampires. Bodies drained of blood.”They hung up soon after and Cas knocked on the bathroom door. “I’m going to get breakfast. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Okay,” Dean called, voice echoing from the shower.

When Cas returned with a breakfast burrito and coffee, Dean was dressed in his fed suit and sitting on the bed. He stood up hastily and looked Cas up and down, a blush rising in his cheeks. “So, last night. Let’s never talk about that,” he said, and he grabbed the bag from Cas’ hands. He made a big production of opening the burrito and eating it like he’d been starving for weeks. The tension between then dissipated slowly and by the time they were ready to leave for the coroner’s there was at least a tentative camaraderie between them, Dean apparently reconciling himself enough to the night before that they could at least work together.

They examined the bodies and saw the fang marks on the neck, got the addresses for the victims, (they just so happened to live in the same neighborhood) and set out to canvas the area.

“We should stick together,” Cas said, as they parked the Impala on a tree lined street.

A muscle ticked at the corner of Dean’s jaw. As if he were swallowing back a protest. “Okay, let’s go.”

They looked up and down the street, trying to decide which house to start on. “Perhaps the one with the blacked out windows?” Cas suggested.

Dean’s brows rose and he went to the back of the car, popped the trunk and took out his big knife. “I’ve got a good feeling,” he said, and they set off towards the house. They knocked and no one answered. Cas kept lookout while Dean picked the lock and as the door swung quietly open, the smell of death and blood assaulted their nostrils.

“Winner winner chicken dinner,” Dean whispered, holding the knife in a ready position. Cas closed the door softly behind them and they strained to listen for sounds of activity. All at once there was a clattering, feet pounding on floors and down the stairs as half a dozen vamps rushed them, snarling and fangs flashing. Dean killed two before Cas even got a hand on one of them. He smote one and saw Dean fall to the ground out of the corner of his eye. He smote a second and moved towards Dean, so distracted that another vamp slammed into him, causing him to stumble. The vampire sunk fangs into Cas’ neck and Dean shouted in response. And then the vampire was lifeless, head flying one way as it’s body collapsed into him. Dean stood above him, chest heaving with exertion. He put a hand down to Cas and Cas took it, letting Dean pull him to his feet.

Dean’s face was pale, filled with more fear than a vampire attack usually inspired.

 

**

 

 

Dean could hardly breathe, his body pumped with adrenaline and fear. How many fucking times was he going to almost lose Cas? He couldn’t do this, just couldn’t keep coming so close to losing it all. And now there was blood on Cas’ collar from where the vamp had gotten his teeth into him. _Jesus._

The wound was already healed, of course. Cas put a hand to his neck, wiping the blood away, looking at it in surprise as he sat up. Dean thrust his hand down, needing Cas to take it, needing to touch him in some way, a reassurance that he was warm and whole. Even if it was just helping him to his feet. Cas took his hand carefully, clearly not feeling the same anxiety and desperation that was gripping Dean. Of course not. This was a lust and love he was alone in.

Yes, Cas loved him. Hell, the angel could even admit it. That was twice now he’d said the L word. Once right before he almost died from Michael’s spear and last night. And yet, it wasn’t like what Dean felt, wasn’t this all consuming poisonous longing for more and more. To be everything, the very center of Cas’ universe. Dean wanted to be next to him, held by him, fuck he wanted to be _covered_ by Cas, consumed by him. He wanted him so desperately that it was distracting, all encompassing. And then Cas was on his feet and he was close, so close that it took everything within him to not lean forward and press their bodies and lips together. He dropped Cas’ hand and stepped away. He couldn’t go on like this forever. He just couldn’t.

And Cas was as oblivious as always. He helped get the bodies together into a large pile and they dragged them to the back of the house and had a short conversation about what to do with them. Bury them. Just leave. Set the house on fire?

And that was when Dean’s phone rang. The name made him do a double take. “Be right back,” he said, and stalked away, needing to take the call in private.

“Cesar, didn’t think I’d hear from you again. How are things in New Mexico?” He prayed the man would say things were good, that he and his husband were living a wonderful life free of monsters now that they had gotten out of hunting and killed the monsters that murdered Jesse’s older brother.

“Things are good, Dean. Turns out farming and hunting are similar in more ways than you’d think.”

“That sounds unlikely,” Dean said, hands becoming tacky with dried blood. “What can I do for you, man?”

“Just wondering where you were, if maybe you wanted to come pay us a visit. See how the other half live.”

Dean waited but Cesar didn’t say anything else. “Is there…a case?” He hoped not, Jesse and Cesar deserved to live the rest of their life without monsters. But if there wasn’t, then why was he calling Dean?

“No, nothing like that.”

New Mexico was a day’s drive. Not far at all, really. “Yeah, that would be great. But um, I’m not alone.”

“Sam is welcome, of course.”

His stomach flipped unpleasantly. “No, uh it’s not Sam. It’s Castiel. He’s our friend. Um, an angel. But a good guy.” _Lame._

A moment of silence. “He is more than welcome. Looking forward to meeting him,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, because his tone of voice had been weird.

Cesar chuckled. “I read some of the books. Not all of them, you understand. There are just so damned many of them but after we met you and Sam, heard that you two were so famous that there were books and apocalypses with you all in the starring roles, well, we were intrigued. So, yeah, I know about Castiel. And the barn. Jesse will be beside himself. Does he eat?”

“Yeah, he eats. Sometimes. But I’ll make sure he knows that’s expected of him,” he said, wishing he could take the words back because it sounded peculiar. What did he mean, he knew about the barn? What barn? _Which_ barn? The barn where they’d first met? The barn Cas had almost died in?

“Good. Good. And do you mind if we put you to work for a day or two?”

“Oh, here we go. The real reason you invited us, huh?” He said it with a chuckle, genuinely happy to hear from him.

“Not the only reason. But two strong men would be a help. We’re building a new barn and—‘

“Awesome. We’re on our way. Text me the address.”

Dean hung up, stared at his phone for a long moment. Jesse and Cesar. After all this time. And they were so close by. What a coincidence. Dean bit his lips, slapped his phone against his thigh as he thought about it for a minute. He and Cas, the love of his life were now going to go hang out with two gay hunters. Was it possible that all of this was too much of a coincidence? He called Sam, who just happened to answer on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Hey. So, it’s looking like it’s going to be a few days before we come back.” He should have skyped him, seen his face. Instead he was listening intently, as if Sam would breathe in such a way that he’d get a clue of whether or not this was some plan Sam had set up for them.

“Oh yeah? You find a case?” Definitely too casual.

“Did you…you know what? Never mind. We’re going to New Mexico. To see Jesse and Cesar.”

“Great! Say hi for me. Gotta go,” Sam said, hanging up before Dean could say anything else.

 _Dammit_. His finger hovered over Sam’s name, one button away from redial and confirmation and bitching. Dean tried to imagine that conversation, what Sam might say if Dean asked him why he’d gotten Cesar and Jesse to invite them to their home?He put the phone in his pocket. Maybe it was for the best. That conversation was a landmine waiting to happen.

They finished up with the bodies and cleaned themselves up. “Uh, you okay?” Dean asked, just as he finished washing his hands in the sink.

“Fine. And you?”

Dean nodded, felt his mouth pull down into a dismissive frown. Because the truth was Dean was not okay. He was the fucked up mess who’d cried and clung to Castiel’s leg like a child after a nightmare. A nightmare based on his reality and the things he’d done or Michael had shown him.

“So, um, I got an invitation for us to go hang out with a few hunters Sam and I know. They have a farm, I guess. New Mexico. Not too far away.”

Cas’ brows pulled together in that thinking too hard expression. “You’re going to visit friends?”

“We are. You’re invited to. And they’re married. They were hunters. Not anymore.” This was awkward. Dean was the one making it awkward. He could see Cas assessing him, trying to work Dean out. Dean turned away, hated being looked at like that. “Jesse’s brother was killed when he was a kid. He got his revenge and then he and his…uh…partner got out of the life. Jesse is his partner.”

“Alright,” Castiel said. “I am happy to go with you if you don’t mind.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking at Cas and then away. “You should know Jesse is a man. A guy. Two male hunters….they’re married.” Was he sweating? Yeah, Dean was pretty sure he was sweating.

Cas nodded. “Most hunters are men so that does make sense.”

“Yeah, but…” And again Dean didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Was Cas really as nonchalant as he was acting or was he unaware of what Dean was saying? “So, they are husbands.”

“I understood that when you first told me,” he said, flatly. “I don’t have to go.”

“No! No, I want you to go. I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Some people are uncomfortable with homosexuality,” Dean said.

Cas cut him a glance, narrow and pissed off. ‘I know, Dean. I am not one of those people. If one is lucky enough to find love then they should grab it no matter the package it comes in,” he growled, and then he stalked off to the car and everything was awkward. Again. Or maybe it was still. Who could keep track?


	4. Chapter 4

Dean had hoped they’d be able to push on through to New Mexico but it just didn’t make any sense. They had dinner at a diner, Dean ordering a burger and Cas ordering a slice of pie which he only ate a bite or two of and then happily handed it over to Dean to finish. The pie was good but dinner was deeply uncomfortable. It felt like every time he looked up he caught Cas’ gaze. And all he could think about was that they’d be in a room together soon and he would go to bed and Cas would be there, literally watching over him. And fuck, what if he had a damned mental breakdown again? He’d cuddled up to Cas like a child. It was horrible. The sort of thing that should never happen again. It was also the most peaceful he’d felt in years and one of the best night’s sleep he’d ever had. And if Cas asked him if he wanted that again, he didn’t think he could say no.

Which sucked. Because soon Cas would leave and it would be even worse than itcurrently was when Cas left. Now he’d have nights to miss him as well as days. They paid and got back in the car to find a motel. 

His stomach roiled. Was it possible that pie might come back up? He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders. The motel they found was a dump. The sheets seemed clean enough but that was about all one could say about it that was positive. Mainly it was the size. It was small. Big enough for a king size bed and that was it. It meant that there seemed to be even more focus on what things somebody might get up to in a bed than usual. Dean frowned. Or not get up to as the case may be.

“Right. Sleep. Take 2.”

“Dean, do you mind if we share the bed tonight?” Cas asked, as Dean rummaged through his bag looking for underwear and a shirt for after his shower. He froze.

“What now?” he asked, wondering if he’d misheard.

“I’d like to lie down tonight. And we only have one bed.”

“Oh. Are you…feeling okay?”

He nodded. “I’m fine. I just thought it might be helpful in case you have bad dreams again. Several hours in that pose became uncomfortable. Lying down would be easier.”

Something hot swam inside of him, a feeling Dean was pretty sure was at least half shame. “Dude. You didn’t _need_ to do that. And don’t worry about it for tonight. I’ll be fine. I uh, I appreciate what you do, Cas. Did. Really. But it’s not necessary.”

Cas nodded slowly, gaze narrowed in that way that meant he was wondering what Dean was actually saying to him, searching for more than words. “I’m not asking you. It helped you and that’s all I want.”

Dean jerked back as if he’d been slapped across the face. “Well that’s a little bold don’t you think?” he said, all snark. “You really trying to tell me you know what’s best for me?”

He sighed. “Sometimes I think someone should. Especially as it seems one of your goals in life is denying yourself _good_ things.” His gaze shifted away from Dean. “Now go take a shower.” And then Cas went to the tv, turned it on and pretended like Dean wasn’t even there.

Dean went to the shower and took his time trying to think through what was happening. Because things were a bit of a rollercoaster at the moment and Dean was beginning to realize that there might not be a way off, this train might have left the station and he might have no other choice but to just hold on. It was a sign of his anxiety that he was mixing all these metaphors, but really, one wasn’t enough because this was a Big Fucking Deal.

Cas had held him last night. And now they were going to see Jesse and Cesar, something Dean was so excited and terrified by that he couldn’t even imagine what it might be like to be there. And now Cas was acting different. More commanding and decisive. But not about everything, just about Dean and his relationship with him. As if he was entitled to Dean. There was a possessiveness to him. For years he’d bitched about personal space, or lack thereof, with Cas. Cas eventually figured it out but now it looked like he was taking it away again, this time on purpose. His breath caught in his chest and he actually swayed, putting a hand on the sink as he thought about Cas ignoring what Dean said and giving him what he wanted instead. It was the sort of thing he fantasized about. One of the main transactions for the spank bank.

But this was because of Michael. Because of what had happened when he’d been possessed by him, because of what it had taken to get Dean free and what it had revealed about how Dean felt. Which was different than lust. They were going to have to talk about it at some point. There was no way Dean could get Cas to back off without talking about it. Fuck.

He wasn’t willing to accept Dean’s bullshit at face value. Usually he told Cas what to do or how he was feeling and the angel accepted it or waited until Dean told him the truth. This felt different. More invasive. As if Cas was no longer willing to let Dean deflect and hide. If he thought he knew what Dean needed, then he was going to give it to him. Cas wasn’t going to defer to Dean. Everything was different. He could feel it.

Dean felt a shiver go up his spine at the thought, the idea enough to make his cock half hard. Sometimes Dean could forget about what Cas was, what he _actually_ was. Other. Angel. Created by God. A guardian. And although a lot of angels were dicks with no moral compass and an unhealthy dose of narcissism, that wasn’t Cas. From the moment they had met Dean had trusted Castiel. Sometimes he wondered if his body, his soul had recognized him, as if that mark on his shoulder had fused his skin, his soul and Cas’ grace and changed him irreparably.

And maybe that was why he’d always wandered closer to Cas and Cas had wandered closer to him, because in some ways they were a part of each other, grace and flesh that recognized each other and wanted to reunite. He shook his head and stripped, getting into the shower. Hallmark crap.

But Cas had done terrible things to protect Dean, he’d compromised himself and his identity for Dean. As if Dean was worth it. His father had never thought so. And yet here was this angel, this representation of the divine that looked upon Dean as if he were special, more than a torturer or a poorly educated, brash fool. When he was with Cas, he felt like maybe he actually was more than his past or…or more than he believed he was. And that was frightening in a different way.

And now Cas had decided he needed to be there for Dean at night. Instead of judging Dean or deciding he’d been a sap or pathetic, Cas was doubling down and determined to protect Dean from his own bad dreams.

Cas wanted to take care of him. His shoulders unwillingly slumped in relief and gratitude. Tonight he was going to be okay. Cas would see to that. The thoughts went through him before he could stop it, something warm and happy lighting up inside him. He’d be safe and cared for and Cas was going to lie next to him and protect him. Because Cas loved him. Sometimes that made Dean feel uncomfortable but right now it felt like a necessity. His one good thing, his major life’s win that he’d gotten Cas back from the Empty.

He finished showering and dressed, brushed his teeth and went out to the bedroom. Cas was downright informal, jacket and tie gone, shoes off, shirt unbuttoned two, no three buttons which showed a smooth, tan expanse of skin. He’d pulled the covers back as well and Dean tried to play it cool, kept his feet moving towards the bed. “What are you watching?”

“Alf. It’s a show about a dog-like alien who comes to earth.”

“You think he’s a dog? Doggish?”

One corner of Cas’ mouth quirked up. “It’s unclear. Should I turn it off?”

“No, no it’s fine,” Dean said, not really wanting silence and attention. Nothing good could come of that. He sat down on the bed and then laid down, pulling the blankets up to his chest. He turned to look at Cas and blushed. Cas was looking at him intently.

“What should I do if you have a bad dream?” His hand flexed at his side as if he wanted to touch Dean.

“Wake me up?” he said, unsure what the options were but that seemed like a safe bet. He didn’t have the courage to ask.

“I could change them, you know. It’s not difficult to monitor your dreams and alter them. Perhaps it would be beneficial, give your mind another way to process what was done to you.”

“What I _did_.” Echoes of voices screaming, the sounds of bones breaking, the smell of blood. It was all there, just circling him like angry ghosts ready to take form and strike.

“Dean, do you think you really had any choice in the matter?”

The words were familiar and he remembered Sam saying almost the same thing about Amara when he’d confessed that she was his darkest desire. How many times could he use that excuse? That he had no choice? That he was overcome by something more powerful than him? Perhaps there was a reason he was chosen, because he would break. Perhaps that was why their entire family had been chosen, he thought darkly. His brother broke and became a demon blood junkie, his father broke when his mom died and Dean…well, sometimes Dean thought he had been born broken. Or maybe he’d become broken as he raced from a burning house with Sam in his arms. Maybe he’d broken on Alistair’s rack. “I’m tired. But um, I think we’ll both be happier if you’re not wandering around in my dreams.” Jesus, with his luck he’d have some sort of erotic dream about Cas. 

Cas turned the TV off and then he got up, switched off the lights, fiddled with the curtains and came back to the bed. He got in and scooted over, closer. But he wasn’t lying down. Dean kept his eyes closed, focused on keeping his breathing even, as if this were a perfectly normal thing, him in bed with Cas, the being he’d been in love with for years. Cas’ hand settled on Dean’s scalp, began running through his hair.

He should complain, protest. And yet it felt so nice. He could feel the tension ebbing out of him, his jaw relaxing. Dean opened his eyes, risked a glance, not sure if he was surprised or not to find Cas staring down at him, a soft expression on his face. If Dean asked him, right now, ‘do you love me?’ he suspected Cas would say yes, without hesitation or question, no doubt at all.

Dean could feel it, the pure bright light of Cas’ devotion aimed at him. Not at God but Dean. Michael had found that so amusing, joked that Dean was Castiel’s god. And he’d seen Cas as Michael had known him, broken and villainous. His mind shattered, his eye ruined from Naomi’s constant tinkering. In the AU they’d broken his wings, not trusting him to remain faithful to Heaven’s cause. And yet he had been. Because Deanhad never been born. Never been there to lure Castiel away, to shove him in a different direction. Another option, a different choice. Cas was his. He’d saved him, at least in this reality. The dark made things clearer, easier.

Cas’ other hand was lying across his stomach and Dean reached for it, settled his palm over the back of Cas’ hand and just held it, enjoyed the warmth and comfort of having someone to touch. Well, having the touch of the man he loved.

Desire swept through him, more than lust or desire for sex but for touch and affection. To be cared for. He tugged on Cas’ hand involuntarily. “You can lay down if you want,” Dean said. He swallowed down the fear that suddenly threatened to consume him. Had he really just said that?

Cas shifted, withdrew his hand from Dean’s and moved down the bed so his head was lying on the pillow next to Dean’s. A truck rumbled by, the sound of the freeway carrying through the thin windowpanes and cheap door. And there was still enough light from outside seeping through the split in the curtains that he could see Cas’ face, all in shadows and chiseled angles.

His eyes were open, watching Dean. He reached out a hand and Dean closed his eyes, expecting the touch, waiting for it. Cas cupped his cheek and Dean drew in a breath, scared to move. Terrified he’d moan or beg. He wanted to ask for more, he must have thought it, shoved the thought outwards and towards Cas like a prayer because Cas moved closer, slid his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, as if he were thinking about pulling him in for a kiss, and it took everything in Dean to stay still, to not pull away or shove himself forward, to keep breathing normally and not arch closer in desperate need. Cas’ hand slid down, stayed on his shoulder, covered the brand for a long moment.

“Our bond is a strange thing,” he murmured, voice so low and gruff that it was barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder about it, if I’ve done something to you, tied us together like this. Or I wonder if it’s you, if there is something so special about you that Chuck created by design or accident. How many beings have wanted to possess you? To have your devotion or fealty? And I worry I’m another one.” The hand in his hair clenched and relaxed, as if he’d wanted to grip Dean tighter. Dean breathed deep, sensation spreading down his body from that touch, along every muscle and deep inside of him, then echoing in his groin. “No. You didn’t do anything to me…we’re in this together.”

He could see the moment Cas came into the barn vividly in his mind. He’d _felt_ him, before he’d arrived, a thickness in the air, like storm and ozone. And familiar. And he wondered if that was a residue from his time in Hell, that when he felt that presence rolling towards him it had felt like salvation. And as the doors burst open it had become heavier, tighter, more oppressive and when the wind had started he’d known, _he_ was there. Something beyond comprehension. And he’d come towards Dean as if he floated, owned the very earth he walked upon, his gaze fixed on Dean, his intention clear- to be close to, to speak to Dean.

And his wings, when he’d seen them, this bizarre proof of the divine that was beautiful and fierce, that had claimed him he’d felt….shit, he didn’t know what it was.“Whatever we have here, I do want this. This, I mean you, you are the one good thing in my life that I chose and would choose again.” Wow. He’d said that. _Abort, abort,_ Dean heard screaming in his mind but how could he? He wasn’t saying it for him but for Cas. He didn’t want Cas to feel guilty or question what they had.

Cas’ thumb traced the shell of Dean’s ear and he shivered. “No. It’s more than that. Did you choose? You wanted out of Hell, of course you did. You clung to me because I was your freedom from pain and death. And that’s what I’ve always represented to you.”

“Yes,” Dean whispered.

“Even…even when I swallowed those souls. I could feel your pain but still there was yearning for what I represented.”

That was true but overly simplified. “When you took those souls I lost you, I thought….” It was hard to get the words out but it was just the two of them and it was dark and he wanted to speak and be known more than he wanted to live in fear and quiet. “I’d ruined you like I ruin everything. Sam, Lisa, my dad, how many things did I let down? But you were, are, different.” This was the part where he should shut up. Because he might say something utterly insane. Maybe that he was glad Cas was here or that they were better together or that he needed him and then Cas would fuck off like he always did. Wouldn’t it be harder to pick up the pieces of his heart if he opened it up and laid it out for them both to see? “Yeah, you put a mark on me but if anything it made me feel proud, undeserving but good.” Ugh, talk about an inadequate description.

“Hmm,” Cas said, and there was a pause as he searched for the right words. His hand continued to stroke through Dean’s hair and Dean’s breathing evened out, his grip on Cas tightening. Cas sighed. “But for me, my feelings are… darker maybe. I don’t know. Yours are good. Reverent, perhaps,” he said, and he stopped himself. Dean didn’t quite understand the distinction Cas was making. Cas’ hand moved, slid away, back to his own side of the bed. A retreat.

Dean reached out, grabbed Cas’ hand in his. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything else with it. But he couldn’t let go, either. It was simple really. Whatever fucked up history or future they had together, however wrong it was or how it changed the fate of destiny, even the world, Dean needed Cas. Emotionally, physically apparently, and even romantically. At this exact moment he had two out of three. Was romance even possible?

“I’ve lived for so long, followed orders. And when I’ve made my own decisions, they’ve not always gone well. Failure after disaster, and—”

“Am I a failure?” Dean asked, voice rough.

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand reflexively. “No, of course not, but I don’t know, Dean. I have thoughts and ideas, things I think I know or could guess but what if I’m wrong? How do I make decisions for you or for _us_ when I could get it so wrong? What if I hurt you or…it’s not good. If I’m not good.”

Dean drew in a shaky breath, running through the words Cas had just said. Was it possible they were both having the same conversation they thought they were? Could a physical relationship between them be defined in such a vague way? “I’m not helpless. And you would never hurt me. And if something was a problem, was not right, I’d say.”

“Would you?” he asked, voice low and deep. He moved his hand, fingers sliding between Dean’s, pressing their palms together, close and intimate. The effect that touch had on him was ridiculously out of proportion. Dean’s body was hard with lust and almost shaking with need. Every bit of him wanted to just say yes, to anything. Possession, touching, claiming, kissing, anything Cas wanted from him or to do to him was good.

“Cas,” he managed, his hand jerking slightly, wanting Cas closer and over him, inside him. He tried to say yes with his mind, with his frantic heartbeat and his buzzing nerves. But Cas didn’t move closer. Didn’t close the distance between them and Dean didn’t have the courage to do it himself, wasn’t willing to risk their friendship. His feelings were painful but wasn’t that what Dean Winchester’s life was all about?

And so they both lay there for a long time, next to each other, hands clasped, their bodies torturously close and yet distant. Eventually, Dean fell asleep. And in the morning he had no idea what he’d dreamed.


	5. Chapter 5

They drove up to a ranch style house a few miles from anything. Surrounded by trees and wild grasses and wildflowers, there was also a horse pen off to the left and a truck that was bing worked on to the right. Dean turned off the engine and sat there for a moment. “Okay, well it’s showtime, I guess.”

Cesar opened a screen door and came out, wearing a beige henley and jeans. His dark hair covered by a hat. He waved and smiled. Dean got his bag out of the back and was relieved to see Cas had the pie they had stopped to get.

“We brought pie,” Dean said, smiling tightly. This was strange. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t go visit people, let alone couples that had relationships he envied. His stomach flipped. _Envied? Shit._

“Then you can stay forever,” Cesar said, and he hugged Dean quickly and then said hello to Cas, putting out his hand to shake. “You must be Castiel. I have heard a lot about you.”

“From whom?” Castiel asked, all seriousness.

Cesar flashed Dean a look. “Oh, well other hunters and um, the books.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” He nodded, a dorky smile on his face. “It is nice to meet you too,” he said, and did a funny little half bow. Dean felt his chest swell with pride. He loved it when Cas did human things awkwardly. It was a little reminder that he was not human, that he was here, out of his element just for Dean. And maybe it was because humanity was something Dean could teach Cas. Cas gave so much to Dean that it was nice to return the favor at least a little bit. Cas being awkward made Dean feel like there was something he could help Cas with.

“Jesse isn’t home yet. Had a swing shift today.” Cesar looked at Cas. “Jesse is my husband and an EMT.”

“I didn’t know he was planning on going back to work,” Dean said.

Cesar shrugged. “He missed helping people. Besides it’s benefits and a steady paycheck. I don’t think he’d realized how much he’d liked knowing he was useful. He thought he’d give up hunting and be free. Funnily enough, it doesn’t work like that,” Cesar said, tone self-deprecating.

Dean nodded. “I can see that.”

“Come inside. I hope you like Mexican food. It’s kind of a specialty of mine,” he said, with a grin. Entering the house was a strange experience for Dean. He hand’t known what to expect, what kind of a house the two men would make for themselves. Perhaps he’d expected it be a reflection of the hunters themselves-maybe a bit worn, filled with mismatched pieces, and big on comfort. Maybe a bit run down and while he supposed the house _could_ be described like that, there was more to it. This place was so much more than the sum of its parts. It just _felt_ good. As if the people who lived here were so happy that it altered everything around it for the better.

It was, in fact, a house Dean would want to live in if he ever had his own place. It smelled like home cooking and fresh air, all the windows open to let in the afternoonbreeze. They had a tv that Dean couldn’t help but admire and a couch that reclined. It was perfect for snuggling. A blanket was folded neatly on the back, and Dean could imagine himself next to Cas, watching tv, just cuddling.

He actually threw a glance in Cas’ direction, suddenly worried the angel might pick up on just how much Dean liked the idea of snuggling. Catch him staring hungrily at the blanket. He wasn’t sure he could even say the word out loud it was so…feeble. And yet, he could imagine Jesse and Cesar here cuddling up and he wouldn’t think less of them for that. Oh no, if anything he felt envious. That was the realization he was now reckoning with. This here, was something he wished he had. Dean would need to think about that a bit. Or a lot.

Cesar led them back through the living room and towards the bedrooms, opening the door to the guest room. “This is where you guys will be,” he said, utterly casual. Of course he was. Because Cesar was gay and he’d reached the conclusion that Dean and Cas were also gay and in a relationship. From the books no doubt. And maybe from Sam. _Fucking Sam._

And yet, they weren’t together. Should he bring it up? What if they didn’t have another room? But Cas took the decision away from him, walking into the room and looking around with open curiosity. “Thank you Cesar. This is wonderful. Your home is lovely.” Dean didn’t think anyone else besides Cas could get away with so much honest sincerity and not have it be considered mocking.

Cesar nodded. “Come on out when you’re ready. Take a shower or whatever. Towels are in the bathroom. Jesse will be back in an hour and then we’ll have dinner.” He turned and walked away. Dean closed the door and stood there like a moron while Cas sat down on the bed.

“What?” Cas asked, voice low.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but that’s your thinking face. And you’re unhappy.”

“I just hadn’t thought he’d think we were together and now we have one bed and….” Dean didn’t know what to say, and the fact that Cas wasn’t sure what point Dean was trying to make wasn’t helping either. Why was Cas looking at him like there wasn’t a problem here?

“I’ve enjoyed lying with you at night,” Cas said, just laying it all out there. But, of course, he wasn’t laying it all out there, was he? Because what Cas thought they were doing, cuddling and being all weepy and girly with each other was peaceful and calming and amazing but it was only part of what Dean wanted. It was like the burger without the fries or the popcorn without the movie. He wanted _everything_ with Cas. Physical as well as emotional. Could he survive with just one? Or even more frightening, could he really go back to what they had before? Neither popcorn nor a movie? He frowned. He hated this metaphor.

Dean swallowed. Cas was still watching him, apparently expected an answer. Yeah, he’d liked it too. He felt himself blush. “I’ve enjoyed it too. And I appreciate you being there while I…get over this. It shouldn’t be too much longer,” he said, walking to the window and looking outside. There was a barn next door, clearly in the middle of being rebuilt. He was looking forward to doing some construction, actually. Building things was satisfying. “But, um, what about the fact that he thinks we’re a couple? Should we correct him or does that make it more weird?”

Cas just looked at him for a long while. “I don’t have a problem with them thinking we are a couple. In many ways we are a couple. With the exception of the physical side of things, this is the closest to a relationship I have ever had. And I thought that was what we were discussing last night. Whether or not we should take our relationship in a different direction? It’s fortunate we are here now. They are nice men. And lucky to have found each other. I think I have a lot of questions for them.”

“Right. I’mma take a shower,” Dean muttered, and fled the room. Dean went into the bathroom and stood there, fully dressed, facing the mirror, hands on the cool tile countertops as he tried to process the emotional bombshells Cas had casually thrown his way. They were now considering a romantic relationship? Cas had questions? Jesus, the types of questions he might ask were terrifying. He’d need to tell Cas to not ask anything about sex. 

Steam filled the room and he jerked away from the counter, stripping quickly and getting in the shower, letting the water pour down on him for a long while. Much longer than he should have probably. He turned the water off and dried himself slowly. It was time to go now, leave this small room that had a nice protective lock on the door and go be with people. Meet Cas’ eye as well as his hosts.

Could he leave? Run away back to the bunker? He could already imagine the phone call from Sam. ‘Did you really drive away without a word and leave Cas with two ex-hunters he’s never met before?’ and he’d have to say yes, yes, he did. And that wouldn’t do. Right? Although, Cas could fly so he could leave too. But then what? Then he’d really lose Cas. Because fleeing would be the path chosen by a child. So no.

Thankfully, Cas wasn’t in the bedroom when Dean got back out of the shower. Dean got dressed and picked up his phone, staring at it for a long moment before he called his mother. She picked up on the third ring. “Dean,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Hey mom,” he said, and his voice sounded shredded. Christ, he needed to get it together.

“Dean, honey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I was just wondering how it was going over there. Wasn’t sure if you had a case or something you needed help on.”

A long pause. “I thought you were going to see friends?” she asked.

“Is that what Sam said?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if he…did he call them to get us here? I mean, I guess he must have, but why?”

“Dean, I think that’s something you would need to ask him yourself. But they are your friends, right? Friends like to see each other.”

“Their ex-hunters, mom. And they are…gay,” Fuck, he had to sit down.

“And?” she asked, her voice hard in a way he couldn’t quite interpret.

“Well, that wasn’t okay when you were alive. You know, before. And it’s still not okay in a lot of places. Most places, I guess.”

“Are you asking me if I’m homophobic? Because, Dean, all I want more than anything is for my boys to be happy.”

“Um, no. It’s not me, I’m not—”

“Stop, Dean,” she said, cutting him off. “I love you. I’m glad you’re visiting friends and I hope I get to meet them some time. Now, I don’t know what your father would have said, but I like to think that he would judge people on how kind they are rather than their sexual orientation. But, I really don’t know. And the things you boys have said of him make me…wonder. But he’s not here, Dean. You are. You have to be happy. Please, please let yourself be happy.”

He couldn’t speak. There was a small ocean of tears and emotion wedged into his throat and he literally couldn’t say a single word. He nodded. Not that she could see it.

“So, no, there is nothing happening here that needs your attention. And, Castiel would die for you. And you would die for him. You didn’t see him when you were gone. What it did to him. You are the point of his existence, Dean.”

“No,” Dean managed.

He heard her take a breath in, “Yes you are. He told me himself. He’s so scared for you and in love with you that he couldn’t see straight…oh, no pun intended. Anyway, you heard him in that barn.”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

“I mean, you do love him, don’t you Dean?”

“I um, don’t do the whole, I mean, say the whole love and, uh…love thing.”

“You’ve killed a lot of monsters Dean. I don’t think four letters are going to bring you down. I love you, Dean. Please have a nice trip.”

“Okay, bye mom.”

“Bye, Dean. I four-letter-word you.”

Dean laughed weakly. “That can’t be our thing. I love you, too,” he said. And then he had to sit down. He waited for a moment, half expecting the world to shake or something horrible to happen. Nothing did. He’d said I love you and everything was okay.

He needed a beer. 

 

*** 

Cesar led Dean out to the front porch, cold beer held tight in his right hand. They sat down in two chairs that rocked, the smell of wisteria thick in the hot air. The sun was going down, the temperature dropping to pleasantly warm instead of hotter than hell. The sound of a truck could be heard in the distance. Cesar shot Dean a small smile. “That’s Jesse.” He looked at his watch.

Dean nodded and took a drink. “Good. I didn’t get a chance to spend a lot of time with him, wasn’t quite sure he thought all that fondly of me, actually.”

Cesar shook his head. “His whole life was stopped, paused in pain and grief because he’d failed his brother. This hole he could never climb out of, and you helped him, helped us move on. He doesn’t just like you, he feels grateful to you. We both do,” he said.

Dean couldn’t say anything to that. It was too much. Jesse came around the corner then, walked up the steps, said hello to Dean and then bent down to give Cesar a quick kiss on this lips, his hand trailing down Cesar’s cheek.

And that was an image that would be burned in Dean’s mind for the rest of his life. The ease of it, the closeness and familiarity of honest love. Something cracked open inside of him. Acceptance? Recognition of who he was and what he wanted? He wanted _that._ A casual kiss at the end of the day. To trail his fingers over Cas’ rough jaw, to give and receive affection without it being a big deal. “I’m gonna grab a beer,” Jesse said. “Anybody need anything?”

“Yeah, babe. Another beer would be great. Make it two,” he said, glancing at Dean’s half- empty bottle.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel heard the door open and close, the tread of unfamiliar footsteps. Alone. He exited their room and went into the kitchen, observing Jesse for a moment before he moved into the kitchen. Jesse cast him a glance, quick, up and down, and then opened the oven, putting a full pan of food into the oven.

“Cesar’s famous enchiladas,” Jesse said, closing the door and standing up straight. He took three steps across the kitchen, extending a hand. “You must be Castiel.”

“I am. It is nice to meet you, Jesse.”

“Uh, thanks. And you.” He paused, face becoming red. “You’re an angel?”

“I am,” Castiel said.

“Wow. That’s…amazing. So, I guess there really is a Heaven?” he asked, posture tense.

Castiel knew the question Jesse wanted to ask. Of course he did. “Your brother is in Heaven,” Castiel said, and Jesse froze.

“What?”

Cas blinked, wondered if he’d once again said the wrong thing. He’d thought it would be easier to just tell him, so he wouldn’t have to ask. “He was a good person. No matter that bad things happened to him, the possession before he died, that didn’t affect where his soul went.”

Jesse’s face went pale and he moved back, sagging against the kitchen sink. “Wow. Okay. Okay.” He breathed in and out. “Thank you, Castiel.” He blinked a few times and then opened the fridge. “Beer?”

“It doesn’t affect me.”

Jesse smiled at him, even laughed a little. “Do you dislike it?”

“No,” Cas said, “I just don’t see the point.”

“Well, we all will be drinking and it will make us feel better if you have one too. Do as the humans do and have a beer.” Jesse gave Cas a beer and they each took a long sip. “Let’s go outside,” Jesse finally said, and Cas turned away, pretending not to see Jesse wipe away a tear from the corner of his eye.

He followed Jesse outside and they each took a chair on the porch. Dean gave him a brief glance and then looked away. “So where were you two coming from? What monsters just got slaughtered by Dean Winchester and his angel?” Cesar said.

“He’s not my angel,” Dean said, weakly.

Cas squinted at him, uncertain how to respond but definitely annoyed. “Is Jesse your man?” he asked Cesar.

Cesar laughed. “He is.”

Cas nodded. “I don’t object to being called ‘Dean’s angel’. I’ve heard it often enough over the years. In Heaven, in Purgatory, from hunters, demons and angels alike. Our fates are intertwined enough that it would be silly to protest now.”

Dean took a long drink of beer. “I think I’m going to need another here. Maybe I’l double fist it,” he said, and Cas heard the fine tremble under the words. Dean explained the hunt they’d just finished and then there was a moment of silence.

“This is beautiful land,” Castiel said, eventually.

Jesse looked fondly at Cesar. “I think the idea of this was all that kept us going sometimes. You need something to look forward to, you know? I guess that’s true of everything, but especially with hunting.”

Castiel nodded. “That makes sense. How did you two meet?” he asked, clearly curious.

“Mexico. A hunt. It was just in passing. And then we met up again, trailing the same monster outside of Tijuana, but it turned out to be a nest so we joined forces. I think we both knew there was something there, but, uh, I spent a lot of time in the closet so we stayed friends for a long time. Lots of staring and awkward pauses.”

Cesar huffed. “And I knew he was the one for me as soon as we met. I called him for help at the flimsiest of excuses,” Cesar said. “And after every hunt I’d get him drunk and hope that maybe he’d cave, but he had a strong will.”

Jesse blushed, picked at his beer label. “I don’t know how I resisted. Fortunately, he’s persistent.”

Cesar met Cas’ gaze, “I knew he wanted me, too. It was just a matter of not giving up. Looking past the bullshit to the man underneath.”

“Was that the buzzer?” Dean said, voice abnormally high.

Cesar stood and turned to Dean. “Help me make the salad.” Dean jumped to his feet, eager to leave. Which was fine, Castiel had some thinking to do anyway.

**

 

They sat down at the table and commenced a long conversation about various hunters they’d met over the years and monsters they’d fought. They traded horror stories and tips. At some point they ate the pie and drank a few more beers and Dean had a moment of perfect clarity that this was happiness. And it wasn’t unobtainable. Maybe it wasn’t for other people. This moment was what all the fighting was for. Jesse and Cesar had earned it. Dean thought maybe he had to.

“I don’t know, all this reminiscing makes me think you guys might miss hunting,” Dean joked.

Jesse looked down at the table, rubbed a finger against a scratch in the wood. But Cesar met Dean’s gaze and there was no question or doubt in his voice when he said, “No, actually. Not at all. By the end there, I loved him too much. We were each other’s liabilities, we were going to be the death of each other and we both lived in fear that the other would die and we’d have to wander on alone and miserable because we’d failed each other. It was like living a nightmare.”

A slight nod from Jesse. “I don’t like to talk about it, but you did a lot for me, Dean. And you, Castiel. Just knowing my brother is okay, that he’s in Heaven…you want to know why I walked away? Even though part of me does regret it and part of me thinks I’m not doing enough good in the world? Because Cesar asked me too. I could have gone on, so long as I was only hurting myself. But he figured out that I couldn’t bear to hurt him. And that was it. Now we’re out and sometimes, yeah, there are dark days and nightmares, but it’s worth it. I couldn’t do it for him but I could do it for me.” He reached across the table, took his husband’s hand in his and suddenly it seemed to Dean like they were intruding.

Cesar stood and cleared the table, said goodnight to them both and got them off to their room for the night. And Dean was pretty darned sure that at least someone wasgoing to be getting laid in this house, so kudos to them.

Castiel shut the door behind Dean and was quiet for a long moment. Dean got ready for bed, keeping his back to Cas, and then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and mentally prepare himself for another night of sweet torture.

Dean went back into the bedroom, surprised to see Cas over at the window, staring into the darkness. Dean sat down on the bed and wasn’t surprised when the bed dipped beside him, Cas close enough to touch. Hell, he was close enough to kiss. He took Dean’s hand in his. His skin dry and warm, veins pulsing with life, as if he were human.“Maybe we should make a decision. On when this is over. The hunting. The willingness to throw your life away for anyone.”

“No,” Dean says, pulling his hand away. “This is my life. This is what I do. He gave a good sales pitch, it’s true. But that’s not for me. I can’t quit.”

“What is your life, exactly?” Cas asks, and he waits for an answer. Dean has nothing to tell him. “Your father told you to keep Sam safe,” Cas prompts, unwilling to let it go. 

“Yes, and I am trying, but-”

“And your mother?” Cas interrupts.

“What about her?” voice gruff.

“She wants you to be safe and happy. She wants you to have a normal life.”

Dean’s laugh was bitter. “What would I even do?”

“This,” Cas said, softly, gesturing to the house around them. “You would open a repair shop, maybe attached to Bobby’s salvage yard. You’d have a small house, like this one, with a porch where you could watch the sunset and drink a beer in safety. Sam would go back to school and on the weekends you would bbq. You could help hunters with lore, be a centralizing figure like Bobby was.”

Dean swallowed roughly. “I don’t want that.” God, what a lie.

“There is no shame in wanting happiness. Peace. I’ve seen it, in your mind. You can say you don’t think you _deserve_ it, but don’t lie and say you don’t _want_ it.”

“No, I….” Dean said, incapable of saying the rest of his thought. Cas reached up, put a hand gently on his jaw, turning his head towards him.

“ _We_ can have that. You and me, if you’ll have me.”

“What?” Dean asked, and if it was possible he became even more closed off, shut down. Every muscle in him tensed, ready to flee or reject what Cas might say. Bracing for impact.

“I love you. I saved you from Hell and I stayed with you, resurrected by God to be with you, and I’ve stumbled from one mistake to another in a desperate attempt to keep you safe. And when I died, and I came back, I kept looking for a purpose, Dean. A _reason_ for my existence. Was it Jack, was it Michael? Because you…I didn’t think you needed me anymore. But it turns out my purpose has never altered. It was you. It always was and it will be forever.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Dean said, and he shifted away from Cas. Cas put a hand on him, urging him to stay where he was.

Dean pushed away, standing and pacing away from him. He was blinking rapidly. Trying to push down so many emotions. “Isn’t that why we’re here? To see what we could have? Because it’s beautiful. The love they have for each other.”

“No,” Dean says, turning towards him. “That’s not why we’re here. We’re here because they’re nice and because my family is meddlesome, but they’re not us. We can’t, _I_ can’t, have that.”

“And you thought we would see them and the life they have built together and decide what? That this wouldn’t work? Did you want them to be unhappy or hunting on the side? Haunted? Do you really expect me to believe that you came here and thought it wouldn’t make you want _us_?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says. His heart is beating too fast and his palms are beginning to sweat because this shouldn’t be the conversation. Cas pushing, one step down from a full on tactical assault. They should say nothing or as little as possible, have a lingering look or a quick touch and then pretend everything is fine.

“They had a goal. Revenge. They achieved it and they got out. And it doesn’t make them bad people. They are still heroes. Not continuing to save people doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Or…worthless.” Cas hesitates on the word because he knows that’s how Dean feels and it’s so misguided that just saying it in Dean’s general vicinity sounds wrong.

“I can’t do this, Cas. Whatever you think this is. This intervention. I can’t.”

“Dean,” He says, voice soft.

But a tear slips down Dean’s cheek, his jaw clenched tight and he can’t even bring himself to look at Castiel. “Please, don’t do this to me. I swear you’re gonna break…something. Me, maybe.”

“How?” he asks, voice like gravel. Dean is trembling, standing still but it’s only because he doesn’t know which direction to go. He’s like a scared animal. Terrified and frozen. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish I could take it all away. The past, the fear. But this is where we are. And I love you. _I_ need you. You’re not denying yourself now. You’re denying me and what I need. Can you really deny me?” he asks, moving closer.

Dean says nothing, waits, watches with wide, fearful eyes as Castiel closes the distance between them. He puts a hand on Dean’s stubble rough cheek, tilts his head so he can look into his eyes. “Are you going to tell me no, Dean?”

“You bastard,” he manages, because he knows Cas is using this against Dean just like Jesse and Cesar did with each other. That coming here has given Cas the final piece of the puzzlehe needed, the keys to Dean’s heart. One simple twist and he’ll open up, spill his guts all over the floor, probably. “You’re wrong.”

“That’s not the question,” Cas says, leaning closer, lips brushing feather light against Dean’s jaw. Dean takes a sharp breath in, his hand landing hard on Cas’ shoulder, gripping tight.

“Please, Dean. I need you. To be closer to you,” he says, and the hand on his shoulder flexes. “Will you let me have you? Will you tell me no?” he says, leaning close, brushing the tip of his nose against Dean’s neck as he breathes him. And then his mouth is there, tasting Dean’s skin, pressing open mouthed kisses on his flesh.

“Fuck,” Dean says, hips pressing forward, bringing their bodies against each other, the hard press of Dean’s cock against his own making Cas groan loudly against Dean’s throat.

“Jesus,” Dean manages, arms going up, wrapping around Cas’ neck, worried he’s about to fall down. But Cas can support him, is strong enough to make sure Dean doesn’t disappear, was strong enough to rescue him from Michael. “Yes, damnit. Yes,” he says, eyes closed as he finds Cas’ lips, presses kisses against his mouth with all the pent up frustration he’s accumulated over the last ten fuckingyears.

He tries to pull him closer. It’s rough and desperate, hungry and it takes Castiel a moment to respond. It’s clear Cas hadn’t expected this, for Dean to give in so completely and suddenly. But his body is pressed tight along Cas’ and his erection is trapped firmly between them and all he can do is go forward, his cock hard and aching, needing this with Cas, wanting him more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his entire life.

 

All the hesitation, concern and doubt that had been lurking inside Cas, that had urged caution, goes dark, becomes nothing but desire, conviction and need. He needs Dean, needs to taste him, be inside him, possess him. Dean is _his_. This man belongs to him. He pulls his mouth away from Dean’s and kisses his jaw, his neck, open mouthed and hungry as he drags in greedy breaths. “You’re mine,” he says, and he can feel Dean’s cock twitch against his own. Hands on his waist he pushes him back, urging him towards the bed until Dean collapses back, climbs over him, pausing with one arm braced beside his head as he uses the other hand to adjust his aching cock in his trousers. Dean is staring at Cas’ hand, watching the shift of his cock inside his slacks. “Fuck, that’s hot,” Dean whispers, eyes wide with arousal. He leans up, meeting Cas halfway, kissing him greedily as Cas settles his body on top of him.

“Touch me,” Cas demands, grinding his cock against Dean’s firmly, knowing this isn’t enough. Already he knows this won’t be sufficient. “Closer,” he manages, and sits back up, hands fumbling with Dean’s t-shirt, dragging it off while Dean fumbles with Cas’ white button down.

“Off,” Dean murmurs, breathing shallowly. The shirt comes off and Dean makes a sound in his throat when he sees Cas’ naked chest. The smooth skin, tanned and muscular. His hands run down Cas’ chest but Cas stops him, moves further away and Dean sits up, chasing his body.

“Take your clothes off. I don’t want to stop again,” Cas says, surprised to hear his voice is a growl.

“Yes, sir,” Dean manages, a smile quirking his lips as he reaches for his pants. He unbuttons them quickly, watching as Cas does the same, standing for a moment so he can strip. He’s done before Dean, Dean’s boots causing him problems.

Cas tugs off the last one and pulls off Dean’s jeans and boxers, watching intently as each bit of flesh is revealed. “Yes,” he hisses, lowering himself back over Dean. He kisses Dean’s chest, his nipple, flicking a tongue over him before lowering his head and licking at the head of Dean’s weeping cock.

“Christ,” Dean says, surprised. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this, Cas as some sort of sex god/horny teenager. His hands are everywhere, all over Dean, from his thighs, to his balls, wrapping around his cock and then back up his chest. He takes Dean in his mouth, sucking hard and Dean shudders, desire and lust flashing through him. He shoves Cas back off of him, breathing hard. “Stop for a second. God, I almost came. Just a second. Hold on,” he says, and he closes his eyes, trying to get himself under control. But Cas doesn’t seem to care, he’s moved back up, lays himself on top of Dean and kisses Dean hard, teeth almost clacking against each other in his desperation. “Open up for me, then,” Cas demands, and Dean’s gasps, letting Cas in, exhaling hard as his body trembles.

Of all the fantasies he had of Cas, he’d never thought _this_ would be the reality.When he’d thought of this moment, them kissing, he’d imagined it would be gentle, ridiculously romantic with Sade in the background and candles. Serious chick flickery happening, or it would be life and death desperation. But _this_ Cas, this vocal and demanding man who wants to devour him is taking Dean apart like he’s a city under siege. It’s all orders and confident decisions. And he’s embarrassingly close to losing it. Dean reaches down to touch himself, wrapping a hand around his cock, squeezing hard, trying to stop himself from coming. Cas’ hand covers his and then shifts, dragging Dean’s hand away and back up towards his head, pinning it down. “What are you doing?” Dean manages, eyes closing. “I’m gonna come if we don’t slow down.”

“Good. Do it. I want that. And then I want you to do it again,” he says, hand squeezing hard on Dean’s wrist.

“Oh fuck,” Dean pushes up hard, grinding his cock against Cas’, the orgasm catching him by surprise, rolling through him in deep, pulsing waves. Cas sits back, watching him intently as Dean’s cock jerks and come continues to pulse out of him, landing high on his chest and all over his stomach. Cas reaches down, swipes his hand through the mess on Dean’s skin and then wraps his hand around his own cock, using Dean’s come for lube, making the glide of his hand slick and easy as he jerks himself hard and fast, gaze roaming Dean’s body underneath him, his free hand busy, proprietary, touching Dean all over, from his nipples to his shoulder and up to his mouth, demanding Dean suck on his fingers. 

Dean blushes even as he opens up, can’t stand to look at Cas and yet can’t bear to look away. It’s so filthy and hot he can’t stand it. “I want to come all over you.”

All he can do is nod and moan in enthusiasm and the smirk Cas gives him makes Dean blush, as if he can read Dean and all his filthy desires. The fingers come out of his mouth and Dean whispers, “Mark me, do it. Do it, Cas,” he begs. And his cock twitches, another wave of pleasure spearing through him. 

His cock is trying to get hard again, the sight of Cas like this apparently enough to overwhelm his normal refractory period, which is crazy. But then Cas’ head goes back, his mouth opening as he hauls in breaths, closer and closer to the edge. With a low groan he comes, come landing on Dean’s stomach, his chest, stripe after stripe, ensuring that between the two of them, Dean’s a mess. He’s not sure how he should feel about it.

Dean begins to tremble. He can feel it, his own come cooling, Cas’ come hot and resting on him, some of it sliding down his ribs. It’s too much, too perfect and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s been used, treated like some sort of possession, this is another claiming, different than the mark on his shoulder, less permanent and yet it’s seared into him anyway. 

It shouldn’t be this satisfying to have Cas’ come on him and it takes him a minute to figure out why he likes this so much, why his cock is gently aching as he gets hard faster than he ever has before. Cas had marked his soul, his body and had healed him with his grace, pushing his essence through Dean’s body but somehow none of that was sexual. It was a claiming but it wasn’t this. Didn’t come with sex and intimacy.

Dean wants Cast to rub it into his skin, have Cas feed it to him, but there is no way he’s that brave. Besides, Cas would probably find that revolting. _Just like any sane person would,_ Dean thought darkly. Any protest or demand to be cleaned up is pushed further back in his mind as he thinks about that last bit of pearly come that’s clinging to Cas’ cock. He wants to taste it, he needs to know.

Cas must see something on his face. Dean meets his gaze and blushes. Castiel smiles. And where the fuck did he get a smile like that? He swipes a finger across the head and brings his finger to Dean’s mouth. He doesn’t even wait, doesn’t offer or wipe it against Dean’s lips but pushes his finger into Dean’s mouth, assuming he’ll taste it without complaint. Dean moans, sucks hard on the finger in his mouth, swallowing the bitter flavor, wanting more, wanting Cas to feed his cock into Dean’s mouth and have him suck every last drop out of him, make him work Cas’ cock until he’s hard again and coming down Dean’s throat.

“I should clean you,” Cas says, hesitating. Dean’s heart thumps erratically in his chest. Should is a word with possibilities.

Dean licks his lips, unsure what to say. “What do you _want_ to do?” he settles on, his voice wrecked. Because it’s clear he’s not running this show. “So many things,” Cas murmurs, a finger dipping into the come on Dean’s stomach. “I want to feed it to you, want to use it to open you up so I can be inside you.”

“Um, okay, that’s a lot, you know.” Dean says. “That’s pretty…intimate and um…filthy, I guess.”

“Why?” Cas asks.

“Because…because it is?” Dean isn’t sure why he’s arguing, but it seems like the thing to do.

“So you don’t want me to?”

Dean blushes. He can feel the come cooling on his chest and he imagines what that would be like, having Cas touch his hole, fingers pressing into him, slowly. “I don’t know,” he says.

Cas’ gaze narrows as he stares into Dean’s eyes. He takes in Dean’s lips, moist and slightly red from all the kissing. His gaze wanders lower, to the come on Dean’s chest. He swipes another finger through it, lower, so that it’s in their combined mess and lifts it to his own mouth, tasting it.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says. And his cock, the traitorous and excitable bastard he is, is fully hard now. As if he’s some teenager. But who the hell couldn’t see something like that and not get hard in response?

“If I tell you I want it, does that make a difference?” Cas asks, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable question.

Dean blushes. “Yeah, yeah it does,” he manages to whisper, sliding his gaze away. Because the truth is that he’s never asked for what he wants in bed. And if he really wants something then he’s been absolutely sure to keep his mouth shut about it. So there is no way he can tell Cas all the things he’d let Castiel do to him. And Cas must see that, it’s why he’s changed the question, removed responsibility from Dean and assumed it all. Letting Dean just say yes, just take what Cas gives. He feels his cock ache at the thought.

“Then I want it,” Cas says, low and greedy and Dean swallows back a moan, closing his eyes. Cas moves, lies next to him, turns Dean’s head so he can kiss him, softly, slowly, tongue sliding into his mouth carefully, coaxing Dean into doing the same. He lifts a hand, rests it on Cas’ head, slides his fingers through his thick hair, enjoying the softness of it, the realization that he can touch Cas. That Cas is touching him and wants him.

It’s almost too much, this realization but then Cas moves again, his fingers swiping through their come and Dean moves his legs, giving Cas access. And fuck does it make him feel vulnerable. 

Cas touches him gently, rubbing come against his tight entrance and Dean’s cock jerks, his balls drawing up in pleasure. He’s breathing harshly at the wrongness of it. Of how much he wants it and is afraid of it at the same time. And then Cas is back again, swiping come off Dean’s chest and applying it to Dean’s hole, slowly working a finger into him. He pants and shifts, wanting to help Cas get him open. Finally, a finger works its way inside him, Cas’ knuckles pressed tight between his cheeks and Dean sucks in a breath at the feeling. It’s weird and wrong, that’s always what he thinks when he puts a finger inside himself. Because he’s done it to himself before but he’s never let somebody else do it. Hell, he’s put his fingers inside people’s asses, guys and gals over the years because he’s always wanted it for himself but of course he didn’t _ask_ for it. And now he’s getting it and he can barely stand the slowness of it, the way it’s making him feel, not just physically but emotionally.

He shouldn’t be letting someone do this to him.

He shouldn’t want it.

And it sure as hell shouldn’t be Cas.

But who else _would_ it be? Who could he have let do it, if not him? No one. A final swipe and Cas is back at his entrance, slowly working a second finger into him. Dean groans low at the feeling, the discomfort of stretching. “We need lube. There wasn’t enough,” he whispers against Dean’s lips. “I wonder if there could have been. If I’d made you come hard enough-“

“Christ, Cas,” he manages, because he can’t think of anything else to say. It comes out wrecked and desperate. Which is apt. Cas groans and pushes deep, two fingers pressed firmly into him, down to the knuckles. He looks down, watches his fingers disappear into Dean’s body and Dean bites his lip, the intensity of the gaze too much. It feels like Cas wants him more than anyone has ever wanted him. They’re in this together and it just feels different. More intense and weighted. He adjusts his fingers, brushing against Dean’s prostate and his cock twitches in response. Pre-come pearls at his slit and Cas makes a noise of pleasure at the sight of it.

“Just a minute,” he says, and he pulls his fingers out of Dean’s body, watches as Dean’s ring flutters in response. He stands and goes to his bag, beautifully naked, his own cock hard and flushed. He rummages around in the bag and pulls out lube, comes back and Dean licks his lips, wishing Cas would tell him to suck his cock. Dean wants to kiss him, wants to know every inch of Cas’ body, but Cas clearly has other plans and so Dean waits for him, not moving at all, trusting that Cas will take care of him in this way too.

Cas sits on the bed near him, opens the cap and squirts lube onto his fingers. He reaches between Dean’s legs, the cool slick making Dean shiver. He slips two fingers back inside of Dean and then it’s three, slowly rubbing at his rim, urging him to relax. “Do you want this, Dean?”

Dean opens his eyes, wasn’t aware they were closed. It stings now, there is a burn, his body working to adjust to the fingers slowly disappearing inside him. “If you do,” he says. And he hopes that’s enough, that Cas can somehow figure out that what he wants to say, but can’t say, is that he wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire fucking life.

Cas pauses, pulls his fingers from Dean’s body, watches Dean closely, eyes narrowed. “You’re hard, your heart is beating quickly and your body is aroused. You enjoy this and what we’ve done. At least you do, physically. But if mentally, you don’t want this…you know you can say. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to.”

“No, actually I can’t. Because I don’t get what I want, Cas. If I say what I want, it’s gonna go away or get ruined. But…but there is nowhere I would rather be, no one I would rather be with…and, and my body isn’t lying to you,” he says, and in that moment Dean hates himself. What’s wrong with him that he can’t even say he wants Cas to touch him?

“So, what then? I should just…use you when I want?” Cas says, and he moves, slowly crawling up Dean’s body, settling between his legs. A small pool of come weeps from Dean’s cock at the words and all he can do is nod and moan in agreement. The idea of Cas needing him, pulling him aside or coming into his room and pushing him to the bed or to his knees because he just can’t wait is apparently Dean’s biggest fantasy because he’s so close to coming again it’s embarrassing.

Dean moves to accommodate him, opening his legs wider. He needs Cas inside him. Cas watches closely as he lines himself up with Dean’s body. He pushes in slowly and Dean wraps his legs around Cas’ body, tilting his hips up in invitation. Cas lowers himself over Dean, kisses him softly as Dean takes his weight, reveling in being covered by him, feeling protected.Cap wipes his hand on the sheets next to him and grabs Dean’s hip, fingers pressing into the skin. The head of his cock sinks inside Dean and they both moan, eyes meeting. Cas smiles and Dean can’t help smiling back at him.

This is them, joined together in sensation, in feeling and pleasure. Cas is his. Cas is getting pleasure from him, that’s all he can think as Cas slowly works his way deeper into him. It stings but under there is pleasure. And although that’s not the first thing that comes to mind, Dean doesn’t want him to stop, doesn’t want it to feel any differently (if he’s being perfectly honest) because the truth is that this feeling, the weight of Cas, the smell of his skin, the taste of his lips and the feel of his hands, the intensity of his angel over him, and now inside him makes him feel good in a way nothing else ever has.

For a moment he wonders if _this_ is his purpose, to be here for Cas, to be Cas’ way into the human experience. Maybe he is that conduit. And if that was Dean’s purpose it would be a relief, worthwhile. Cas draws back, pulling slowly out of him and then thrusting slowly back into him. It steals Dean’s breath and the feeling of it, overwhelming, begins to change. It’s emotional and if he’s not careful he might start crying. Which is unbelievably weird and better not fucking happen.

“I should turn over. You can get deeper,” he says.

But Cas is still staring at him, looking into his eyes and deeper into his soul. “You’re mine, Dean. I love you. I want to see you, especially this first time.”

He swallows hard, determined to keep the tears at bay and closes his eyes. He turns his focus towards the cock inside of him, hard and large. Cas shifts a little and the head of his cock grazes his prostate and Dean’s eyes squeeze tight in pleasure. He grabs at it, wills it to become everything, to cover up this fucking emotion that wants to choke him. “I love you,” Cas whispers again as his lips meet Dean’s. He feels his body tremble. This is too much. Too sweet. Too beautiful. He can’t do this. He’s going to come apart. He’s going to fucking cry and say things that will be there between them forever if he’s not careful.

“Harder,” he says, voice a growl.

“No,” Cas whispers, and keeps his pace slow and steady. Dean’s eyes open, meet Cas’ and the look on his face, gentle and caring is annihilating.

“Please don’t do it like this,” he says, and he can hear the tears in his voice, feel them rising up in his throat.

“I love you. I need this from you. To have you like this. I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry it’s so greedy of me, but this is everything. You are everything. I’ll stop if you want. I’ll turn you over and fuck you hard if I have to but please, please don’t make me.”

He whimpers. Honest to god fucking whimpers and manages to open his eyes. He feels the tears go down his cheeks and Cas leans down, kisses them from his face, grindshis cock deep inside of him, shoving closer, wanting to be deeper and deeper inside of him. “This will never be enough. I’ll never be done with you,” Cas says, and his own voice is shaking. Dean looks at him, has to see him and is stunned to see the tears on Cas’ own face, on his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pulling Cas’ head down to him, letting Cas settle in against his neck as he finally picks up the pace, breathing harshly. Cas says, “I want you to come for me. I need you. I want to make you feel good. This,” he manages and his body trembles. Dean’s body is overwhelmed, his stomach slippery, his cock trapped between their stomachs. He pushes upwards and suddenly cries out, coming hard. His body shudders, walls clamping on Cas’ cock and it triggers Cas’ own orgasm, come spurting inside him. He can feel it, warm and wet and deep. Cas kisses him then, surely and hungrily, with teeth, as if he might devour him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, against Dean’s lips. “Did I hurt you?”

It’s almost funny. Cas didn’t hurt him, not physically. He’s not sure Cas could hurt him physically. Not really. But, emotionally, he feels destroyed. As if he’s in pieces that are being held together by will alone. “Don’t apologize to me. I don’t think I can go back now, Cas. You can’t…” God he hates himself, his own weakness but this is too big. Even if it’s a curse he has to say it, has to put it out there. “You can’t leave me again, not now that you’ve done this to us.” But that sounds like it was one sided and of course it wasn’t, it took years for them to get here, to this.

“This is my weakness, right here. I’ve had a taste of it, of you and, if you don’t want me, you have to tell me right now.”

“I want you forever, I swear. I swear,” Cas vows, softly, lips on Dean’s eyelids, on his cheeks and his lips. “You are everything to me, Dean Winchester. Everything.” And then he sits up, stands and reaches a hand to Dean, pulling him to a sitting position. Dean makes a sound of discomfort. His ass is going to be sore. Every time he sits down, hell, every time he moves, he’s going to be reminded of what Cas did to him, how Cas took him, what Cas wanted from him. “Let me heal you,” he says.

“No. No, I want to know it happened,” he says, and Cas nods as if he gets it. Maybe he does. Dean’s no longer sure he has any idea what the hell Cas knows. Maybe everything. He sure fucks like he knows every goddamned thing ever.

“Shower,” Cas says and he takes Dean’s hand again, lacing their fingers together as they go get cleaned up.


	7. Chapter 7

They shower and go to bed, Cas’ arms surrounding Dean as he falls into a deep and dreamless sleep. And even better is that Cas is there when Dean wakes up, the smell of coffee and breakfast a temptation that Dean doesn’t want to resist. Except now there is one thing he wants more that breakfast.

Cas smiles at him, kisses him and slides down Dean’s body, taking Dean’s hard cock into his mouth and humming in pleasure. Dean’s eyes slam shut, his body arching at the sensation. He’s panting and at the edge before he knows it and he can’t wait to return the favor, to slip down and take Cas in his mouth. He’s going to swallow down every last drop, he’s going to make Cas moan and plead. He comes hard, imagining Cas’ hand twisting in his hair.

When they wander to the kitchen, Jesse and Cesar are there already, both of them reading the paper. Cesar is wearing glasses which Dean finds vaguely endearing. They eat breakfast and go out to the barn, working all day in the spring sun, a nice breeze making it all bearable. They stop for tea and lunch and when Cas kisses him, Dean doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even try. If there is anyone who isn’t going to give him hassle for kissing Cas, it’s these two guys. The joy or fucking gratitude he feels for the two of them is immense, the sort of thing that can’t really be repaid. At dusk they quit, all four of them exhausted and starving. They drink too many beers and tell horror stories of their lives hunting, Jesse tells them about the goats he’s getting in a month, how the barn is for them and a few other animals they’re going to acquire.

They BBQ and watch the sun go down, Cas sitting beside Dean, holding his hand in his as the day turns to night and the stars begin to wink awake. They go to bed and come together without words, just slow and intense, as if they each need to memorize every texture and touch of the other’s skin. Dean falls asleep with his head on Cas’ chest and doesn’t remember his dreams.

They finish the barn the next day, giving Dean and Cas get one more night together before they head back to the bunker and real life. What will happen now? Will Cas really stay? And Jesus he’s going to have to see his mom and Sam and even Bobby. He can imagine Charlie giving him a lascivious sort of grin of approval but ugh, the rest of it, who knows.

The uncertainty contributes to Dean’s neediness and he’s on Cas before the door is even closed to their room, stripping him down and palming his half hard cock before Cas can even groan in approval. “I need you. In me. I want you. Now. Right now,” he whispers with his eyes closed, grinding himself against Cas’ hip until it hurts. He’s shaking with need, with fear that this is coming to a final and horrible end. And if that’s what’s about to happen then he needs to remember what he had for the short amount of time that he had it.

Cas shoves him to the bed, climbs on top of him, meeting Dean’s urgency and wanting more. Dean turns over wanting it hard and fast and Cas growls in approval. Dean comes with a harsh cry and Cas comes buried in Dean’s ass, his mouth on Dean’s neck and his hand wrapped around Dean’s spent cock, making Dean feel claimed all over again.

“We can return here,” Cas says, while they are lying there in each other’s arms.

Dean nods, melancholy.

They leave in the morning and are home in time for dinner the next night. They can hear everyone in the kitchen and Dean walks as quietly as he can to his room, duffel held tight in his hand. Cas is behind him and Dean is wondering if he’s going to throw up. His mother and Sam are there, in his doorway, staring at them both as Dean is unpacking.

“How was the trip.”

“Very satisfying,” Cas says, and Dean feels himself blush. “Jesse and Cesar send their regards. They are very nice men. I’m anticipating moving my things into Dean’s room tomorrow. And I’m not going anywhere. Just so you know,” he said.

Dean is speechless, staring at Cas in shock, wonder and joy. Screw embarrassment. He just doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth for the additional emotion right now. Hearing Cas say that out loud to the people who love him makes him feel dizzy.

“Great,” Sam says, recovering first and blinking at Dean.

Mary smiles, shoulders rising in happiness. “See Sam. Didn’t I say they’d work it out? I’m so glad I got celebratory pie.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You can’t take credit for this. I’ve been having to suffer through this for years. _Years._ You have no idea.”

“Pie?” Dean asks, interrupting them. They follow Mary and Sam out of his room, Dean taking Cas’ hand in his and leading him towards the kitchen. Cause Cas wasn’t going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Stevie Nicks song.
> 
> Please check out my partner's awesome art that was made for the DCBB Challenge. Squee!!!


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